


A Rumoured Affair

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gossip, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Tevinter Being Awful, Tevinter Being Tevinter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rilienus isn't interested in gossip, honest.</p><p>He just wishes he was brave enough to ask Dorian how much of it was true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rumoured Affair

Rumour has it that Dorian Pavus went south and bedded-- well, take your pick. Rilienus has heard every possible combination of things ending that sentence and several combinations that he suspects are impossible.

It is not that he is interested in gossip. It is merely that there are things which are useful to know. And things, granted, which are less useful to know but which happen to be of personal interest.

Rilienus has been a magister too long, perhaps. He's starting to lose the ability to be honest even with himself.

Honestly: he's desperate to know exactly what the truth is at the bottom of all these rumours about Dorian.

To what end, he cannot exactly say. He is hardly going to use such information against Dorian; though perhaps no longer friends, they are not enemies. They are indeed allies, of a sort, in that Tilani has him playing moderate counter to her firebrand reformer and Dorian's continued exploration of the fine line between brilliance and treason. It is a part he is probably suited to play.

Certainly, he is well-placed to nudge the unimaginative, self-serving scions of old names who make up much of the Magisterium, to speak of stability and compromise and make things that would be radical when Rilienus was young seem reasonable when the alternative is whatever southern-inspired insanity Dorian has dreamed up this time.

They do not speak to one another. A greeting as they pass in a corridor, the appropriate form of address when they've reason to debate in the Magisterium, yes, of course. But they do not _speak_. They're rarely invited to the same parties, these days, and even if they were, it would be politically unwise for them to be seen together for any longer than it would take to exchange the usual pleasantries and veiled threats that make up the normal sort of interaction between one magister and another.

So, it is not as if anything would change, if he knew. If any of it or all of it were true.

He knows this, and yet.

* * *

The low gossip is, of course, much as it ever was, with a few references to southern political figures thrown in. If Dorian of House Pavus had indulged himself in all the sexual excesses ascribed to him in the fervent imaginings of certain people, he'd barely be able to walk, let alone duel Magister Capro on the front steps of the Archon's palace in a display that is the talk of Minrathous.

A well-done thing, too, although Rilienus can not say as much, as the late and little-missed Capro had been, in theory, an ally of his. As he gives the customary condolences to Capro's rather dry-eyed widow, who is to hold the family seat until their daughter comes of age and should be _much_ easier to work with, one part of his mind puzzles over the gossip.

It is not merely that they exaggerate Dorian's indulgences. It is that there is, as far as Rilienus can tell, nothing to exaggerate.

No brothels, no membership in any discreet Minrathous clubs that Rilienus might or might not be able to name, no slaves at all for the Pavus estate, let alone a rumoured favourite. If there is anything between him and one of the Lucerni or his other associates, it is a secret kept with some dedication.

He has considered and rejected each of the possibilities, for various reasons: too young, too old, too devoted to his wife, not nearly clever enough, already fucking Rilienus, bad fashion sense, and so on.

It could hardly be fear of scandal holding him back; Dorian has none, and besides, there's little he could do to make the rumours _worse_.

He looks far too content, besides. One of the usual idiots spits the usual insults and he just smiles, fingers curling around air as if toying with an invisible chain. “How much time per day do you devote to thinking about me naked? Be honest.”

Far too much, Rilienus thinks, as the session chair tries futilely to return the gathered magisters to the topic they're supposed to be debating. If I were to be honest.

If it wasn't far too late for that now.

* * *

Where Dorian goes during those months when the Magisterium is not in session and good, respectable magisters like Rilienus attend to their country estates is another mystery that hasn't yet been solved.

He has never before been delayed on his return.

“Magister Tilani,” he says, in passing, with the dryest note of disinterest he can muster in his voice. “I do hope your protege realises the vote will go ahead whether he is present or not.”

It matters little in this case; the bill will pass either way, no matter how passionate the Lucerni opposition. Rilienus has taken as much of the sting out of it as he can, granted; quite amazing what one can do with a well-placed subclause.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Tilani replies, with a knowing look that means that _concern_ is actually what he didn't manage to hide from her.

Dorian does miss the vote. Misses eight more days before he appears, mid-session, wearing half-healed bruises as if they're a fashion statement. Not that Rilienus is dwelling on Dorian's appearance, as he is too busy picking out who looks surprised to see Dorian Pavus turn up alive.

The latest rumours start up soon after that. Oh, not the ones about the kidnapping and attempted assassination, how very dull would that be? Rilienus is fairly sure even the kitchen staff know who was behind that one. 

No, the ones of real interest are about exactly where Dorian was heading, and who came to save him. Secret meetings on the Nevarran border with a Qunari? There are many ways that could be taken, none of them good, and Rilienus doesn't know whether to be grateful or frustrated at the way most of Minrathous jumps to jokes about 'playing house' rather than more serious queries about potential treason.

Perhaps he should be neither. This is not his battle, after all.

He collects the gossip but does not disseminate it, practices the blank expression he uses to pretend he hasn't caught on to any given piece of innuendo thrown his way, and absolutely does not even think about asking Dorian about any of it.

Until the day he's entirely minding his own business when Dorian steps out into his path, tossing a look over his shoulder before suddenly sidling up to Rilienus in a way he hasn't since at least half a lifetime ago. “Magister Pacenti. Might I ask your opinion on a point of law?”

From the direction Dorian just came, the distant to mid-range sound of angry people. Rilienus is becoming drearily familiar with this, ever since Dorian came back and took up his father's seat in the Magisterium. “What have you done now?”

“I was just wondering if when dear Caecaeus gets around to indicting me for treason, if you think he'll use the grounds of merely having had sex with a qunari, or of having enjoyed it. I did try to explain that neither of these things are actually treasonous, despite both of them being repeatedly true, but he doesn't seem to believe me.”

Old Gods, have mercy. “Please tell me you didn't _confirm_ any rumours.”

“I admitted to nothing worse than everyone doesn't presume already.” Dorian says, grinning, and somehow managing to keep pace with Rilienus and switch to the far side of him at the same time. “Although if you'd explain the actual definition of treason to our fellow magisters some time, I would be most grateful. They seem to have gotten themselves a little bit confused.”

The levity has now passed _mildly irritating_ and is swiftly moving into _grating_. “You are _impossible_.” This is really no joking matter. The Lucerni still walk a knife-edge, each move for reform carefully planned. Steering the Magisterium is like leading an old, half-blind dracolisk: it may be turned one way or another by a delicate prod, but startle it and it may well try and bite your head off instead, or possibly just bolt headlong into the nearest wall.

Dorian knows this, _must_ know this. Even for him, there are limits.

“I am entirely possible, old friend.” Dorian Pavus says. “That's rather the point, I think.”

Then, without warning, he bounds over the far wall into the gardens in a fashion Rilienus rather suspects is force-magic assisted, and which is briefly impressive before he remembers that Dorian's just left him to deal with whoever it is he's just made very angry.

Deep breaths. Think of the legal measures you can push through while everyone's distracted by Dorian being scandalously uncaring about being scandalous.

He feels a headache coming on.

* * *

A headache. Literal, and metaphorical. Rilienus rubs his brow and frowns at the papers in front of him. “I do wish Magister Pavus would learn the meaning of _half-measure_.”

His latest apprentice, a spindly, fidgety boy with the name of Galo and none of the fight the name might suggest, looks up from the other side of the room. “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, the usual. Grandiose, insulting to his enemies, does no particular favours to his allies, I ought to burn the whole thing and send him the ashes in an envelope as a reply.” Except, of course, it's brilliant, damn him, and Rilienus wishes he'd thought of it, so instead he'll be spending the next few weeks working on ways to sneak these ideas past the Magisterium cloaked as something actually palatable to the traditionalist camp.

There is a long silence. “I think he's very brave.” Galo says, and then looks as if he regrets saying it.

How young he is. How old Rilienus must appear to him, this magister with the wife he never talks to and the children he barely sees. Who does what is expected, and stops there. How Rilienus scorned cowards like himself, when he was young.

For a moment, he thinks of relaying Rilienus' father's words to him, having the same conversation he might have to have with his own son in years not too long ahead. Of speaking of duty, and service, and the things you sometimes have to give up in their name. Of what is possible and impossible.

_I am entirely possible, old friend._

“You are free to think whatever you like, as long as you do it while fetching the herbalist.” he replies, instead, and pauses. Considers. “Tevinter is not particularly kind to the brave, Galo.”

For once, the boy meets his eyes. “I know. I think it, all the same.”

* * *

A party to which they are both invited, if only because the Archon is throwing it, and everyone who matters is. For once, Dorian is on what nearly counts as good behaviour. It doesn't really suit him. Rilienus has become so resigned to the constant scandal that Dorian _not_ having challenged anyone to some sort of duel or going into any sort of graphic detail about Qunari anatomy, 'since you're all so interested', feels somehow wrong.

This, or possibly the very nice wine, or a combination of both, may be why when Dorian asks him how his wife is doing, he replies, quite honestly, “If you really wanted to know you should ask your ex-fiancée.”

For once, Dorian has no immediate comeback.

“I hope the look of surprise is because you didn't know, because I will be insulted if you really think I didn't.” Fuck it all, he's just going to ask the one thing he really wants to know. “Is it true you call him amatus?”

Dorian's smile answers before Dorian's words do.

Good.

That's--

That's good. He's glad.

* * *

Galo stares at the floor, silent. A minute shake in his shoulders.

Rilienus knows very well what it is he expects to hear. Was never an apprentice, but did have a father.

_You will do better, and be better, and nobody will know of this._

“Honestly,” he tells Galo. “You could do better than the Auruncus boy.”

You make me want to be brave, old friend.

* * *

Dorian's fingers are caught in that invisible chain again, a sure sign that he's worried about the vote ahead, all bravado aside. “You could always just wear it under your robes.” Rilienus feels compelled to point this out, although he's not actually sure what _it_ is.

“With this season's fashions?” Dorian says, brow arched. “I think not. Ready to go bully the Magisterium into doing the right thing?”

It's not the question he once waited for Dorian to ask, but at least it's one he can answer in the affirmative. Mostly. “You bully. I provide a voice of reason and guidance.”

Dorian's fingers smooth down the non-existent chain. “Ah yes, like that time you called Caecaeus a snivelling streak of piss. I found that one quite reasonable, personally. Shall we go? Wouldn't want to keep Archon Tilani waiting.”

“Archon- _elect_ , and don't count your Archons before they hatch.”

Rumour doesn't have it that Dorian Pavus is in love, but it should.


End file.
